by Hart, Cary
“Uh-huh. Before or after you showered,” I grill.
“Jeez, Clover. After.”
“You better not be lying.”
“Get some sleep,” Austin demands before he shuts his door, giving us both the privacy we need.
Plucking up the comforter with the tips of my fingers, I drag it down to the end of the bed. The smell of lavender-scented fabric softener fills my senses. Okay, maybe he wasn’t lying.
Now that the bed is deemed safe, I plop down and begin to type out a reply to CJ, but quickly delete it as another rolls in.
CJ: Mal WILL NOT take no for an answer.
I have no choice. Tomorrow it is.
Me: Fine. 10 good?
CJ: YAY! We won! Make it 11. We may have hangovers.
CJ: Wish us luck. ;) xoxo
Me: Luck.
CJ: Clover, everything will be OK.
Me: I know.
CJ: Byeeee! <3
CJ is right. Everything will be okay.
Opening my bag, I pull out my very large, very detailed, twelve-by-twelve binder where my carefully constructed plans are laid out. It’s all there. Every. Single. Detail. All in black and white. A simple design that should have led me to my happy ever after, but failed.
Now, to figure out where I went wrong.
CHAPTER 4
AUSTIN
I knew that fucking twat was never going to marry her, but when I tried to warn Clover, she defended his ass and reminded me all good things come to those who wait. Who in the hell made that shit up?
I’ll tell you, probably some author of some bullshit motivational book who makes money off people waiting for their next release, teasing them when “that time” will come. I should know, my sister lives by those fuckers.
When those elevator doors slid open and Clover was standing there looking broken, I knew Candi—Cherry—or maybe it was Jessica?—fuck if I can remember, but she had to go.
Truth be told, I had no business bringing her home in the first place, but Owen, the producer of Hotline Hookup, had this idea about a strip club segment. And with our schedule, our time was limited. So, there we were, day drinking on the job having titties rubbed in our face. Not a bad day, if I do say so myself.
Blondie stood out. She seemed sweet and was kind enough to let us interview her with her manager’s approval, of course. Come to find out, she just moved here from a small town in Kansas with unrealistic dreams of getting signed by a top modeling agency. Wrong move. And an expensive one at that. Her style and body type would have had better luck in LA.
Fast forward to a spilled drink and Blondie insisting to clean me up. Well, next thing I know, I’m back at my place, shirtless with her hands all over me—caught red-handed by Clover. Thank God.
Now, here it is, six the next morning, and I’m tired as fuck and a tad hungover, if I’m being honest. I could have slept in since I don’t have to be at work until ten, but after talking to Clover last night, I have no choice but to get my ass up to take care of a few things.
If I want that prick to stay out of her life, I need to make sure she doesn’t have to see him ever again. If that means I have to send for Kramer and her things, so be it.
I would go myself, but I’m not sure what I’ll do to him. Punch his fucking teeth out? Grab him by the balls and swing him across the room? Hell, if I know. But instead of finding out, I pull out my phone and punch out a text to tell him to have everything ready for my driver late this afternoon. His response? “Will do. No hard feelings?”
Is he fucking crazy? Yes, all the fucking hard feelings, dick face. Clover truly believed that pencil dick was her Prince Charming and lived her life accordingly—so goddamn boring and accordingly.
There’s a part of me that wants to burst the new little bubble he is living in. His so-called baby momma is Angel Anderson, a model for Harper Agency. That girl has slept her way to becoming one of the most sought-after models in that low-class agency. Hell, I even started to dip my stick in that pond until Owen informed me it was more a swamp.
My point is, that girl has been looking to trap someone who can provide her a lifestyle of the rich and famous. Jeffery, with his old money and successful investments, can do just that. Too bad the baby may not be his. So sorry, asshole.
He’s wasted too much of Clover’s time, and I refuse to let him waste anymore. This is a done deal.
The end.
Moving on.
See you fucking never.
Draining the rest of my coffee, I finish jotting down the list of things for Clover.
Clover —
Key is on the counter. Don’t forget it.
Bird & the rest of your things are being delivered this afternoon.
Help yourself to whatever you need.
Don’t cook. I’ll bring home dinner.
See you later,
A—
Knowing her, she plans to get up and tackle the day, but hopefully, with everything I’ve done, she can sleep in and ignore the outside world.
Pushing open her door and tiptoeing in as quietly as someone of my physique can, I place the note on the nightstand beside her phone.
“Mmm…Jeffery, what time is it?” Clover moans as she rolls over and stretches—and when I say stretch, I mean the fucking covers fall off, revealing her smooth, creamy, and very naked body.
“Holy fuck!” I shout as I bring my fist up to my mouth.
“Huh? What?” Startled, Clover shoots up out of bed as my dick decides to salute her.
Down, boy.
Think bad thoughts.
Think bad thoughts.
Think bad thoughts.
I can’t help but repeat those words in my head. Except for when I repeat it, I can’t help but chase it with what that bad thought actually is.
Quickly turning, I grab a robe hanging on the back of the door and throw it over my shoulder. “Clover, I like naked day just as much as the next person, but today is not the day. Put this on.”
“What’s this…?” Realization sets in and she lets out a high-pitched squeal. “Austin! Oh my God! Get—out—now!”
“Seriously?” I spin around as she holds the robe together with both hands. “You want to get mad at me,” I point to myself, “but you’re the one who slept naked—in my bed—on my sheets—spread out for anyone to see?” I gulp. “Clover, I saw everything.”
“Really? Everything?” she confirms.
“Everything.” I nod. “So, when did you get all that? Like, you didn’t look like that when we went to the Hamptons last summer.”
“Is that a bad thing?” She starts to fidget, doubt setting in because of me.
“Hell no. I mean—I just…” I begin to choke on my own words as I try to tell my friend she has a smokin’ hot bod I can’t unsee. “Obviously, you look great,” I spit it out.
“Oh!” Clover smiles. “Thank you. I’ve been doing Pilates daily and hot yoga every other day…” Clover freezes, suddenly realizing what happened.
I.
Saw.
Clover.
Naked.
Our living arrangement is about to get awkward if I don’t make light of this situation—stat.
“So, is this going to be one of those things—you show me yours, so I have to show you mine?” I tease with my hands on my belt. “I mean, I guess this was bound to happen since we never played house when we were kids.”
Fire lit.
“Get over yourself. I forgot to grab some pajamas and only had an outfit for today and work clothes…” she rambles on.
Crisis adverted.
“Speaking of which, that’s why I came in here.” I signal over to the note. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with jerk-off, so I made arrangements for Thomas to pick up the rest of your things and Kramer.”
At the mention of the ex, Clover climbs back into bed and covers up.
“Listen, if you’d rather…”
“No!” she blurts, cutting me off. “I’m sorry. It’s a lot still�
��you know.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here. Now, let me do my job and take care of you.” I walk over to the bed and tuck her in. “It’s still early.” I reach down and brush the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. I haven’t seen Clover this vulnerable since prom night when her date ditched her for refusing to hook up at this rundown hotel he could barely afford. “Why don’t you take it easy today? If you decide to leave for whatever reason, just make sure you grab the new key off the counter. Maintenance had to change the locks for some reason.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, long story.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll bring home dinner and we can binge-watch bad reality TV. Sound good?”
“Yeah.”
Clover tries to smile, but it just doesn’t tip in the right direction.
Fuck that asshole for taking her light.
CHAPTER 5
CLOVER
Have you ever experienced a movie moment? You know, the kind where you think it only happens on the big screen until you actually experience. it.
That was me, this morning, when I flashed my goods to my best friend, who happens to be a guy and gorgeous. Oh! And my new roommate.
And it’s also me, right now, at this very moment, as I rush into Cuppa Joe hollering to anyone and everyone who is willing to listen. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I’ve had the morning from hell.”
Not movie enough for you? Well, insert someone turning with a coffee in hand, me with my binder in my arms, and a little head-on collision with a slo-mo effect, and you have yourself a classic rom-com coffee shop clip—thanks to yours truly.
Everyone is okay, the floor is a mess, and my binder…it’s on life support, but given the situation it put me in, I’m not sure I want to resuscitate it.
CJ lowers her shades. “Dramatic much?”
“Shhh!” I scan around the room to see who’s still watching. Show’s over, people.
“You shhh!” Mal chimes in.
“No, you shhh!” CJ bites back, squinting as she shoves her Ray-bans back on. “Who let the sun in here anyway?”
“Seriously, CJ. Are you that hungover the lights are bothering you?” I slam my binder on the metal high-top table, not giving two-shits whose head is pounding.
“I’m fine.” CJ raises her cup and takes one long, drawn-out sip. Actually, I’m pretty sure she is gulping—no, downing—her latte before tossing it over her head and hitting the trash behind her. “Or I will be in ten minutes when this triple shot takes effect.”
“How did you do that?” I ask CJ, quickly turning to Mal when she doesn’t answer. “How does she do that?”
Mal shrugs.
CJ rests her head on the table.
I roll my eyes.
“I got this for you.” She slides what looks like some kind of frozen frappe across the table.
“What’s this?”
“It’s The Britt.” She holds up her hand. “Don’t ask.”
“Why did you have to say that?” I throw my hands in the air. “That is like tempting Eve with the apple. Of course, I want a bite.”
“Finnnnnne.” Mal exhales. “Monica, the barista, was waiting on this customer who wanted, I guess, a caramel crunch frappe, but she held the caramel, held the cookie, held the coffee, but added mocha.”
“So, this is basically a chocolate shake?” I take a sip and gag. “No! Just no! This is definitely not a chocolate shake.”
“Right! Well, I made the stupid mistake of ordering what she had. But I figured they would double the order and I would get my drink at the same time. Monica handed me my order and told me to enjoy The Britt. Needless to say, I ordered something else and it ended up taking twice as long,” Mal throws her thumb in CJ’s direction, “making this one even grouchier.”
“Word,” CJ pipes up, then rests her head back down on the table.
Even though both of my friends are severely hungover, I’m glad I came out. I needed this. I needed the distraction from the walls falling down around me.
“So…” Mal leans in, resting her chin on her hands as she prepares to hang on my every word, “how’s it living with Austin again?” Her eyes widen. “Wait! First, tell me about Jeffery. Then my brother.”
“There’s nothing to say.” CJ decides to speak, flipping up her shades and now investing herself in this conversation.
Mal and I just stare at her.
“Whaaaat?” She crosses her arms. “The coffee kicked in.”
“That’s rude, CJ. Don’t you think we should give Clover the chance to tell us the whole story?”
Mal tries to defend my honor, but there’s nothing to defend. There really isn’t anything to say. I’m sure CJ filled Mallory in on Jeffery’s baby momma, so why rehash it?
“She’s right.”
Both of their heads swing around, confused at my confession.
“I am?”
“She is?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “She is.” I pause, taking a sip of The Britt—not so much for the taste, more to wet my throat. “I want to blame Jeffery for everything. For leading me on. For wasting six years of my life. For cheating on me. For starting a family with that blonde bimbo, but most of all, I’m mad at myself for ignoring the signs.”
There, I said it. I can be pissed at Jeffery all I want, but the truth is, we’re like two puzzle pieces that don’t fit. It doesn’t matter how hard you try, if they aren’t made to piece together, they won’t. We didn’t.
“Honey,” Mal places her hand over mine, “don’t blame yourself. You just wanted the fairy tale, like your parents.”
“I’m beginning to think that doesn’t exist.” I pull my hand back and rub the front of my coffee-soaked binder.
Even though Mal is four years younger than Austin, she still remembers what it was like. Living next door, they got to experience everything we did: the family dinners, the dancing around the kitchen, finger food Friday, family game night…the list goes on.
“It does,” CJ chokes out, like it was painful to say. Mal and I turn and stare. “What? Just because I like to have a good time doesn’t mean I don’t eventually want to settle down. I just want to make sure I try all the eggs, so to speak.”
“Eggs?” Mal and I look at her like she just lost her marbles.
“It’s the hangover.” Mal slowly nods. “It has to be the hangover.”
CJ leans forward. “Listen here, bitches. I’m not hungover.”
I wince.
Mal holds up her fingers and pinches them together.
“Fine! Maybe a tad, but still…” CJ scoots her chair closer and folds her hands together. “I don’t want to suffer from RBS. It’s a very serious illness that is becoming an epidemic. It’s super contagious, so beware.”
“I thought we were talking about relationships, not STDs.” Mal laughs, then winces. “Ouch.”
“Who has the hangover now?” CJ smirks.
“Okay, tell me more.” What do I have to lose? Even though CJ is a little crazy in her methods, she’s usually right. “What is the RBS?”
“Runaway Bride Syndrome.” She grabs my binder.
“Hey!” I yank it back.
“Jeezus, Clover. Learn to let go.” CJ plays a visual game of chicken. Her stare is so intense, I have no choice but to hand it over. “Good choice.” She winks.
“Be careful! The pages are wet from the coffee.” I turn to look at Mal, hoping for a little backup, but she’s just sitting there, sipping her coffee. “You’re no help.”
“What?” Her smile is wicked, hiding behind the lid of her latte. “I’m trying to follow along.”
CJ clears her throat. “As I was saying, RBS is better known as Runaway Bride Syndrome. In the movie, Julia Roberts was known for ditching her man at the aisle due to a serious case of cold feet.”
“Ohhh! I know where you’re going with this,” Mal cuts in, grinning from ear to ear. I give her the stink eye. How dare she side with CJ. “Buckle up, Clover. CJ is abo
ut to take you on one hell of a ride.”
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes at them both.
“Kid, it’s cute you want to back me up, but let me get this out so Clo can have her ah-ha moment.” CJ eyes us both, daring us to speak. “Okay, good. So, Julia ran because with each man, she became unsure of who she was. She was a chameleon, changing colors to fit the guy she was with. Sure, everything was fine. They got along, had a wonderful time, but in all reality, she was falsely advertising the goods.”
“Uhhh, what does this—?”
“Shut it, Clo,” CJ interrupts. “Do you want me to get to the point or not? Because this shit is good.”
“Hey, ladies, can I get you anything else?” Monica, the barista, walks up, picking the wrong time to interrupt.
“Holy hell! Can you all just let me finish?” CJ announces.
“Jeez, and here I thought Starbuck’s customers were assholes,” Monica mumbles as she quickly walks away.
“Shit! Did I just piss off my coffee chick?” CJ glances over her shoulder.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Mal shakes her head. “Pissing off the barista is like pissing off the IT guy. It should never happen. Never!”
“I’ll find a way to make it up to her. Now, where was I?” CJ taps her fingers on my binder. “Oh! False advertising.” She pauses, reaching across the table to take a sip of Mal’s drink.
“Hey! Get your own!” Mal hollers.
“I would, but I pissed her off, and until I clear the air, I’m drinking this.” CJ hands it back. “Okay, I’m good now. My point, Clo, is that Julia, or…well, her character, didn’t know what she wanted so she took on the likes of whoever she was dating. If one liked omelets, she liked omelets. If the other liked over-medium, she liked over-medium. She was a fucking chameleon, taking on the personality of each of her grooms because it was easier than actually trying the eggs. Finally, Richard Gere’s character knocked some sense into her by asking one simple question. “What kind of eggs do you like?” She had no clue. None what so ever!”
“Okaaay…?”
“Jeez, Clo,” CJ huffs, knocking on my head. “Anyone home? The point is, she was too busy making everyone else happy to live a life expected of her that she didn’t take the time out to figure out what she really wanted. She never took the time out to try the eggs because she was too focused on the end instead of what gets you there.”